


Marked

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Biting, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Shot, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Time, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Love Bites, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Succubi & Incubi, minor squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Geralt considered for a moment. “Maybe I just like it when you smell like me.”Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”Or:Five Times Geralt Marked Jaskier, and One Time Jaskier Marked Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 92
Kudos: 2022





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> I have been sick with the flu all week, so sick, I couldn't focus long enough to type, so this beautiful idea had to sit, waiting until I was better. Just a warning, there is a lot of come in this fic. A lot. Which is why I tagged for minor squick. And the possessive behavior is... consensual possessive behavior, if that's even a thing.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, and since I'm still a little under the weather, my proof reading isn't great. If you find a mistake, please pop it in a comment and it'll be seen to. Otherwise, enjoy. :)
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm back on tumblr now as round--robin

1.

The first time it happened, Geralt took Jaskier completely by surprise.

They stopped outside an inn and while it was their custom for Jaskier to go ahead and get the room while Geralt stabled Roach, Geralt grabbed tight to Jaskier's wrist and pulled him along. “Hey! Ow! What are you—what do you think you're doing?”

He sputtered and fought all the way to the stables but Geralt didn't let go until they were hidden in the back of a stall. “Honestly, Geralt!” Jaskier grumbled, straightening his doublet. “What's all this about? People use words, we don't just drag each other about.” Jaskier's own words came to a stop and his mouth fell open as Geralt started taking off his clothes. In the back of a horse stall, inches from Jaskier.

Chest bare, Geralt pulled at Jaskier's doublet, and still, he hadn't offered a word of explanation. Jaskier sputtered a little more until he felt warm, strong fingers brushing the skin of his belly, which shocked his brain into working. “Geralt, stop. What are you doing?” He managed to lay a hand on Geralt's wrist, slowing him if not actually stopping whatever he was trying to achieve.

Geralt sighed, like Jaskier was the simpleton missing the obvious. “There's a succubus in this town.” He shook Jaskier's hand away and started on Jaskier's undershirt.

“Oh no!” Jaskier clamped down on his hands again. “I need more than that.” Much, much more.

Geralt sighed again. “She probably feeds off this town regularly. You're new, she'll spot you right away. Unless you smell like angry Witcher. She smells me, she leaves you alone.”

“And how does taking our clothes off make me smell like you?” See, the thing was, Geralt was very close at the moment, touching Jaskier all over—manhandling him, more like—which brought up... some embarrassments, for Jaskier. They hadn't been traveling together long and while Jaskier would definitely take a piece of Geralt were it offered (which hadn't happened, yet) this was not the kind of invitation he was looking for. While he suspected Geralt wasn't one for subtlety, he hadn't heard an offer, making his very interested erection somewhat out of place.

With little help from Jaskier, Geralt got them both stripped to the waist. He threw his own dirty undershirt at Jaskier. “Put that on under your doublet.”

Jaskier took the undershirt and gave it a once over. True, he'd gotten used to Geralt's smell, when it was _near_ him, not _on_ him, but wearing Geralt's shirt might be a bridge too far. He gave an experimental sniff and his nose didn't immediately catch fire. In fact, now that he had some of Geralt's clothing so close, there was more under the sweat and horse, a kind of earthy musk that wasn't terrible, one might even call it pleasant. “Fine.” He pulled the undershirt over his head before rescuing his doublet from where Geralt dropped it.

Apparently, Geralt wasn't finished with him. Still half dressed, Geralt pulled Jaskier into a tight hold, rubbing his face along Jaskier's neck, and blowing warm breath through his hair. Pressed together so close, there was no way Geralt didn't feel Jaskier's _interest_ crushed between them. But Geralt didn't remark on Jaskier's throbbing cock, he just continued touching Jaskier all over, laying small kisses or even—fuck—licks on his neck.

Just as Jaskier thought he was going to come in his breeches, Geralt pulled away, sniffing the air around him. “That should do it.”

Feeling mussed and more than a little meddled with, Jaskier sighed. “How do you know there's even a succubus here?”

Geralt smirked and smoothed Jaskier's hair a bit. “Because I have a better sense of smell than she does. Smelled her at the road as soon as we got to town.”

“And is there a reason we're hiding from her instead of slaying her?”

“Most succubi are benign. If this town allows her to feed here, who are we to interrupt whatever arrangement they have? We need a room for the night and I don't want her to think you're on the menu.” Geralt put his clothes back on and grabbed their bags, heading towards the inn.

Jaskier followed because, well, that's what he did, he followed Geralt. And now he smelled like Geralt. Maybe they had enough coin for a bath and he'd be able to wash this awkwardness away before bed.

The air inside the tavern sizzled with laughter, music and mirth. And there was something else simmering under it all... magic, so thick and potent, Jaskier could taste it. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered, his heart starting to pound in his chest at the mere proximity of it.

Geralt pushed him from behind, but kept a hold on his shoulder, making sure Jaskier was never more than half a step ahead of him. “Keep walking. Don't get distracted.” They made their way to the bar and Geralt summoned the innkeeper with a look. “One room, one night. Can we get supper sent up?”

“O' course.” The old man held out his hand for coin and gave them their key once he got it. “Top of the stairs, all the way back left. Yer supper will be up in a bit.”

Geralt grunted and started pushing Jaskier again, towards the stairs as fast as possible. It was only Jaskier's years of dance training that kept him from tripping as Geralt pushed. He turned to complain and his eyes landed on the far back corner of the tavern.

Glowing emerald eyes caught Jaskier's gaze and the sizzle in the air intensified. The rest of the woman's face was covered by a large cloak—no doubt concealing horns—but those eyes, as luminous as Geralt's, they latched onto Jaskier even as the succubus already had two, ah, _friends_ , sitting with her, their hands tangled in her lap. “Geralt,” Jaskier hissed, unable to tear his eyes away. “I think she sees me.”

Geralt followed his gaze and growled at the woman in the corner. The succubus' eyes flicked away, breaking Jaskier from the magnetic spell. Geralt continued to herd Jaskier up the stairs. “Come on, the sooner we're in bed, the sooner we'll show she's not wanted.”

Jaskier's mouth fell open. “In bed? _In bed_? You never mentioned—”

“Shut up.” Geralt opened the door to their room and pushed Jaskier inside, locking the door behind them. “Get settled.” Geralt didn't explain any further, no matter what Jaskier asked him, so he finally gave up and started unpacking their things, arranging the blankets on their one bed. It's not that they hadn't shared before, tonight just felt... more urgent than most, especially since Geralt kept his swords closer than normal.

Their supper arrived and they ate in relative silence. Jaskier tried to ask a few more questions, which Geralt ignored. “Alright, fine, don't tell me what your plan is. I'm just the one you're trying to protect from the succubus, why should I know what I'm supposed to do?” he grumbled.

“You're supposed to sleep,” Geralt said.

When they finished eating, Geralt didn't let Jaskier take their plates down—which would be the polite thing to do—and ordered the bard into bed. “I'm not a child,” he grumbled, removing his doublet.

He went to take off Geralt's undershirt as well, but Geralt's firm hand on his wrist stopped him. “Are you trying to undo all my work? Leave it on.” Geralt stripped down to his breeches and kicked his boots into the corner, then laid down. He glared at Jaskier expectantly.

“Am I supposed to sleep in your arms?” Jaskier shimmied out of his breeches, leaving nothing but his underclothes and Geralt's fragrant shirt.

“Yes. She already got a look at you. The more spoken for you appear, the more likely she is to leave.” He paused, a small smile flashing across his lips. “It's not like we haven't done it before.”

“That was weather related!” Jaskier huffed. It was Geralt's fault, too. He was the one who decided to take them through a freezing pass on a short cut, it was only fair for him to hold Jaskier at night so he didn't freeze...

With another grumble, Jaskier laid down, letting Geralt's arms close around him. He wasn't opposed to these sleeping arrangements, not at all, he just hated all this damn gray area. If Geralt treated it like a survival tactic—sharing warmth, end of story—that would be fine. If he treated it like a more intimate act, which Jaskier definitely preferred, that was fine as well. Instead, he did neither. Nothing but half smiles and crude jokes while metaphorically holding Jaskier at arms' length, acknowledging the intimacy, yet never inviting more. It was infuriating, and now here it was all over again.

Jaskier wiggled around, getting comfortable against Geralt's fine, firm chest. “Why did we stop at this town if you knew there was a succubus?” he asked. “If you wanted to avoid her, why didn't we keep walking and make camp?”

“Mmm,” Geralt nuzzled the back of Jaskier's neck, the insane fucking prick that he was. “Her lair is probably nearby. If she stumbled on us camped in the woods, I wouldn't be able to protect you as well. If she visits this town enough, she knows how much she can take from its people before going too far. You're new, she'd be too excited to stop before you got hurt.” Warm breath ghosted across Jaskier's neck. “And if she hurt you, I'd have to kill her.”

“Your concern is touching.” Despite the slightly awkward sleeping arrangements, Jaskier never felt safer than in Geralt's arms, and he was man enough to admit it. It didn't take long for his erection—which Geralt still hadn't commented on—to subside and his eyelids to droop. Just before he fell asleep, Jaskier noticed Geralt's silver sword tucked into the edge of the bed.

The soft hum of magic woke Jaskier a few hours later. The crumbs of sleep instantly cleared from his eyes and a ethereal green glow filled their room. Two great horns topped luscious red hair, cascading down a perfectly curvy body—the succubus with her glowing green eyes—glided through the room, towards Jaskier, her arm outstretched.

“Hello, beautiful,” her voice purred. “Where have you been all my life?”

Jaskier tried to reach out and touch her, but a heavy weight held him back. There was a low growl in his ear and Geralt raised his silver sword, holding it in front of Jaskier like the wall protecting a castle. “He's not yours,” Geralt growled. “If you want to keep your head and your hunting grounds, you'll leave him be.”

The succubus' beautiful face fell for a moment, revealing her inner demon as she snarled at Geralt. “Witcher,” she hissed. “I thought I smelled mutant.”

“Then why didn't you stay away?”

Jaskier's heart pounded in his chest. Caught between two all powerful, almost godly beings, he felt small and weak, yet so desired at the same time. He wasn't sure if his raging hard cock was the succubus' doing, or Geralt's sinful voice in his ear. Either way, they better figure this out soon and one of them needed to fuck him.

The succubus gave one last hiss and retreated, the green smoke curling around her until she disappeared.

Jaskier let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Fuck, Geralt... fuck.”

“You're fine.” Geralt tucked his silver sword away and rolled on top of Jaskier, checking him over.

As soon as they moved, Jaskier's cock pressed against Geralt's stomach. There was no way he didn't notice _that_ and Jaskier finally burst. “What are we even doing here, Geralt? Do you want to fuck me or not?”

Geralt's prominent brow furrowed. “Jaskier, what are you talking about?”

“What am I—?” No, there was no way Geralt was that dense. “We've traveled together for weeks now. You know I wank off to you in the mornings, you know I'm in a constant state of arousal when you're near, yet you won't fucking _do_ anything about it. I've done everything except wave my ass under your nose! You make a big show of saving me from a succubus, and now what? We're going back to sleep?”

Geralt didn't say anything for a moment and Jaskier was about to give up, go downstairs and get another room for the night. Before he could move a muscle, Geralt leaned down and kissed him. Warm, surprisingly plush lips met his, tongue quick to follow. Jaskier opened his mouth and let Geralt take whatever he wanted—it wasn't like it wasn't already on offer. Teeth sucked Jaskier's bottom lip until it was rosy, then started making their way down his neck.

A very small part of Jaskier's brain tried to tell him this was just the succubus, her magic convincing him he had what he truly wanted while she drained him dry. Thankfully, the larger part of his brain was too focused on getting Geralt out of his breeches to care whether this was real or not. His fingers fumbled with the ties until Geralt's larger hands batted him away, making short work of it. The room was too dark to see, but Jaskier finally got his first handful of Geralt's cock.

Thick and heavy in his hand, Jaskier couldn't close his fingers around it. He gave a testing stroke and felt the lovely head, already leaking. “Oh, this is gorgeous,” he moaned. He'd sort of seen Geralt naked already—in the bath, in the mornings, loads of times—but it was different seeing someone naked, as in undressed, than seeing them naked and aroused. Oh, what Jaskier would give for a candle right now, he couldn't wait to see Geralt in full glory. Hopefully that would happen soon, hopefully, this wasn't a pity fuck, but a sign of more to come...

While Jaskier palmed Geralt's cock, Geralt made quick work of Jaskier's underclothes. He stripped the bard from the waist down and pushed up his undershirt, exposing as much skin as possible. “I wasn't trying to lead you on,” he whispered, kissing Jaskier's chest. “Many people fantasize about bedding a Witcher, few actually go through with it.”

“Well, count me among the few.” Jaskier's words came in a breathy pant as Geralt's kisses drove him to madness. As Geralt moved down his body, that wonderful cock slipped out of his hand. Jaskier had to satisfy himself by threading his fingers in Geralt's hair instead, the other option was to pull the Witcher back up, but he definitely did not want to derail the direction this seemed to be going.

Geralt placed kisses and small bites down Jaskier's chest, stomach, hips and legs, finally coming to a stop at the bard's aching cock. Geralt swallowed him down in one go, his nose hitting Jaskier's belly, making him moan. Fingers tightened in Geralt's hair. “Oh, fuck, yes, oh yes please...”

While Geralt didn't have much practice with men recently, he never truly forgot anything. Holding Jaskier's hips down with one hand, he dropped the other between his legs, fondling his balls while his tongue swirled around the head of his cock, massaging foreskin and driving Jaskier crazy. He nudged Jaskier's legs up onto his shoulders, rolling his hips forward and exposing his hole. It wasn't difficult to slide one finger into his mouth and get it nice and wet, just slick enough to press inside...

Jaskier's chest jerked like it was on a string. “Geralt, oh, fuck, Geralt. I think, oh—it's too much, oh...” The rest of his words dissolved into meaningless moans as Geralt swallowed down all Jaskier had to give. He continued to suck until a shaky hand pushed him away. “Th-thank you. Give me a minute, I can return the favor.”

“No need.”

Geralt sat up a little, leaning back on his heels and started stroking. He arranged Jaskier's legs around him, making sure the bard had a good view. And what a view—eyes adjusted to the dark, he watched Geralt lazily tug on the most beautiful monster of a cock he'd ever seen. Each upstroke pushed more heated blood into the head, and each down stroke let Geralt's fingers ghost over his sac. Oh, Jaskier couldn't wait to get his hands on Geralt. Maybe tomorrow, before they left. Yes, he wanted to make the Witcher moan for him.

His strokes coming a little faster, Geralt leaned over Jaskier. With one deep grunt, he came, spurting over Jaskier's chest. Long white streaks painted Jaskier's chest and stomach, matting slightly in his chest hair. And it just kept coming, long after Jaskier thought he'd stop, Geralt seemed to be a bottomless pit...

A pool of ejaculate covered Jaskier's chest, filling his navel and sticking to his chest hair. “Mmm,” he grunted. “Clean up is never as fun.”

“It can be,” Geralt said, then dipped down over Jaskier's chest.

Jaskier's eyes went wide as Geralt licked up the whole mess. His tongue dipped into Jaskier's navel, gathering up the drops he found there, before dragging up through the trail of hair across his chest, searching out every last drop. Jaskier watched the whole show, mouth agape. This was the filthiest thing he'd ever had a partner do to him, and fuck if it didn't make him hard all over again.

Geralt slid his nose along Jaskier's chest, finally satisfied he'd found every drop of come to be had. Golden eyes focused on Jaskier. “You definitely smell like me now.”

Jaskier let out a surprised bark of laughter. “I'm sure I do.”

Geralt crawled back up the bed, arranging them again. This time, Jaskier snuggled up close on his own. Now that he had Geralt in his bed, there was no way he'd let him go.

2.

The next time it happened, Geralt surprised Jaskier again. At least this time, he knew Geralt wanted to mark him as 'off limits,' he only wished he knew why—what monster or beast might hunt in a tavern, looking for skinny bards?—but far be it for Geralt to explain his reasons for doing anything.

Geralt hooked his fingers around Jaskier's wrist, silently asking him to follow him and Roach to the stables. They'd been traveling together long enough for Jaskier to trust Geralt's instincts, and he followed without question.

Safely hidden away in the back of Roach's stall, Geralt undid the top few buttons on Jaskier's doublet before burying his face in the bard's neck. “I don't trust the crowd here,” he mumbled, kissing warm skin, teeth barely nipping.

Jaskier held onto Geralt's shoulders, trying not to thrust against him. “Alright. What are we to do about it?”

Geralt didn't answer. He seized Jaskier's lips between his teeth, kissing and nipping until they were bright red, then returned to Jaskier's neck. Teeth bit a little harder now and Jaskier had to hold on tighter to stay upright. In the months they'd traveled together, Geralt's animal magnetism had yet to wear off. Jaskier would still let Geralt fuck him, bend him over, strip him, wherever and whenever he wanted. Maybe he was a fool, but he was a well fucked fool.

Geralt's teeth bit deep one last time before he pulled away and examined his work. A bright red love bite lingered just above Jaskier's collar, perfectly situated to show those who got too close: this bard was spoken for.

“Let's go in.”

They made their way into the pub and Jaskier started to play. The coins started to drop (they were in desperate need for extra cash right now, so Jaskier appreciated the generous crowd) along with a few lingering glances. Jaskier gave his usual saucy wink before prancing away, but a few ladies and a bloke or two tried to catch his eye again and again. All Jaskier had to do was lift his chin to send them packing. Yes, the bright red bite along his throat could only come from one person: the White Wolf brooding in the corner.

3.

Some nights, Jaskier woke up with Geralt sprawled half on top of him. They always shared a bedroll these days, but whenever they passed through a stretch of forest Geralt didn't like, or heard of bandits in the area, Geralt slept a little closer, which usually resulted with Geralt mostly on top of Jaskier.

The larger man's weight wasn't suffocating or stifling, he always managed to walk the line between too much and not enough, with one arm pillowed under their heads, and the other wrapped around Jaskier's slim hips, gently rubbing his chest and stomach as they fell asleep. At first, Jaskier never would have pegged Geralt for the tender type, now he couldn't imagine him any other way.

A nightmare shocked Jaskier awake, and though he felt tears drying on his face, the memory of the dream already vanished. Geralt's arm tightened around his waist, nose sliding up the back of his neck. “Go back to sleep,” he mumbled and pulled Jaskier in closer.

Jaskier bent forward, matching the curve of Geralt's chest pressing him into the ground. He tried to close his eyes again, but the lingering fear of a forgotten nightmare wouldn't let him sleep. “I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment.”

Geralt wasn't his mother, he didn't expect him to ask about his bad dreams and then soothe him back to sleep. Jaskier did expect the hand that dipped down from cradling his hip, to caressing his half hard cock. “Will this help?” a sleep rough voice whispered in his ear.

Jaskier wiggled his hips. “You never know until you try.” He felt a smirk against the back of his neck, then a kiss as Geralt's hand started stroking, slow at first, lazy in their half-asleep state.

An arm like an iron bar held Jaskier tight to Geralt's chest, and rather than feeling pinned down by the strength of it, Jaskier had never felt so safe. He leaned his head back into the crook of Geralt's neck, thrusting his hips forward, but Geralt kept an even, almost too-slow pace. Jaskier managed to nip at his ear lobe. “You're a cruel man,” he whispered.

Geralt chuckled, the sound vibrating through Jaskier's chest and making him tingle all over. Geralt's grip tightened, his strokes coming a little faster. “Mmm, yes.” A shiver ran through Jaskier every time Geralt's broad thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there all along Geralt's hand, making his strokes smoother and tighter, until...

Jaskier moaned, hips bucking as he came in Geralt's hand. Geralt stroked him through it until Jaskier slumped against him, completely wrung out. In the dying light of the fire, he saw his seed sticking to Geralt's fingers. Jaskier realized what was about to happen a second too late.

Geralt pulled his hand back and lapped at the come covering his fingers. With his mouth right next to Jaskier's ear, Jaskier heard each indecent slurp as Geralt licked his hand clean, satisfied little grunts punctuating each lick.

Geralt's now clean hand returned to its spot on Jaskier's hip and pulled them close for sleep. “You do the filthiest things,” Jaskier moaned. “I don't know how I haven't died of embarrassment whenever you make a show like that.”

That dark voice chuckled in his ear. “You enjoy it.”

Jaskier couldn't tell a lie (well, he couldn't lie about _that_ ) he really, really enjoyed it, probably a bit too much. The lovely orgasm quieted his mind and Jaskier's eyes felt heavy, the promise of Geralt taking his turn tomorrow morning filling Jaskier's head with only good dreams.

4.

Jaskier tightened his legs around Geralt's hips, squeezing with every muscle he had. It didn't make the Witcher go any faster, Geralt kept up the pace he decided and Jaskier nearly whined in frustration. “Please Geralt, I'm dying here.” Slow, smooth thrusts were nice to start, but one needed variety. At least Geralt dropped a hand between them, lightly stroking Jaskier's cock— _very_ lightly, and very nearly not enough...

“You seem fine to me.” Geralt dipped down and licked the sweat gathering at Jaskier's neck, moaning at the taste of him. “You want more?” he whispered. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Oh, the things I want...” Jaskier moaned at the mere thought. Wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck, he rolled his hips in time with Geralt's thrusts. “I love it when you put my legs on your shoulders, feels like you're going to fucking split me open,” he whispered.

Geralt shifted, stretching Jaskier's legs until his ankles rested on Geralt's firm shoulders. He sunk in deeper and they both groaned, hips finally moving faster, building up to the big finish, but Geralt's hand on his cock continued that slow, steady rhythm.

“I love when you bite me,” Jaskier continued, “show the world that I'm yours.” A playful growl built in Geralt's chest and he swooped down, teeth worrying a spot just below Jaskier's jaw, licking and sucking the skin until it bruised so nicely. Jaskier tilted his head to give Geralt more room. “Yes, no one will dare come near me now. I'm all yours. Yours to fuck whenever we want. Do you like it when I ride your cock?” A low growl vibrated near his ear and Jaskier smiled. “Come on then, put it in me. You know you want to mark me...”

“Yes, I do,” Geralt rumbled. His hips snapped quicker now, hand speeding up to match. Jaskier threw his head back, holding on for dear life as he came, cock spurting across his chest, a few drops hitting up near his collar bone.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed, collapsing back on the bed.

Geralt pulled out and arranged Jaskier on the bed, rolling him onto his stomach. Mind too fuzzy to focus on what Geralt might have planned, Jaskier was happy for the rest. Marathon sex with Geralt was wonderful, but there was only so much a man could take. “Mmm,” he moaned, snuggling into the bed a little deeper. “Did you finish?”

“No.”

Jaskier opened his eyes to find Geralt kneeling over him, hand still stroking his angry red cock. Jaskier rolled his eyes and settled onto his stomach, the still drying come sticking to the sheets a little. “Fine, fine, do what you will.”

“Thank you.”

One large hand came down to cup Jaskier's ass, sliding down his crack, barely brushing his still soft and open hole. They both moaned for different reasons and Geralt's hand sped up. He adjusted his stance and leaned down, pressing the head of his cock to the warm skin of Jaskier's ass.

A few more firm strokes and Geralt grunted, spraying across Jaskier's ass, some of his come landing on Jaskier's asshole. Geralt moaned at the sight of it and Jaskier moaned at the thought of what came next. Once Geralt spread his seed all over Jaskier's creamy skin, he leaned down and lapped it all up again. His tongue started on Jaskier's cheeks, cleaning a few drops here and there, before Geralt's fingers spread his cheeks wide, letting that wicked tongue slide up and down his crack, gathering up every drop of spend.

Still a little sensitive from his own orgasm, Jaskier squirmed and moaned, but it was never too much for him to handle. Geralt never gave him too much, always the exact right amount, be it pleasure, excitement, or danger, Geralt knew what Jaskier could handle.

Finished with every last drop of his own come, Geralt flipped Jaskier over and started on his stomach. Some of it ended up on the sheets, but that wasn't the point—at least, Jaskier thought he understood the point of this by now—and Geralt took another moment seeking out everything Jaskier had to give him.

Once he licked the forgotten drops from his stomach, he traced the last drip making its way down Jaskier's cock. That warm, sinful tongue lapping over the head of his cock made Jaskier wish he could get hard again, but alas, he was truly done for the night.

Exhausted and half asleep, Geralt fitted his body next to Jaskier, curving around him and pulling him close. “I don't know who you're trying to chase off anymore,” Jaskier said, sleep heavy in his voice. “The whole Continent knows Jaskier only sings for the White Wolf.”

“Hmm.” Geralt considered for a moment. “Maybe I just like it when you smell like me.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

5.

A rough hand pulled Jaskier to his feet, shocking him out of a half doze. “What, what's—”

Geralt's face loomed in front of his, skin pale, eyes completely black, spiderweb veins running from his eyes down his cheeks. The Witcher looked absolutely thunderous and Jaskier's voice died in his throat. “I told you not to fall asleep until I returned,” he growled, voice deeper and more animal than Jaskier had ever heard it.

“M-must've dozed off,” Jaskier said.

Geralt growled and dropped him. “It's not safe here.” Those black eyes roved around the camp, glaring at each tree like it planned to attack them.

“You said.” Jaskier got to his feet. “But after you killed the kikimore, you said it would be fine. You did kill it, right?” Black goo splattered Geralt's armor and stained his swords, all signs pointed to a successful hunt.

“It's dead,” Geralt managed to grind out between his teeth.

Jaskier had never been this close when Geralt was under the influence of one of his potions. He didn't really know what to do, didn't know what might set Geralt off...

So, Jaskier did the same as he always did: he took care of Geralt. “Let's get you out of that armor,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft. Hands open, he slowly approached Geralt, not like he was a wild animal, more like an injured one. In this state, Geralt might well snap at any hand that tried to help him, but hopefully there was enough clarity in his mind to recognize that Jaskier's hand was safe.

Geralt's nostrils flared and he sniffed the air around Jaskier as he approached. He apparently smelled familiar enough because Geralt let him come nearer and start stripping his armor. “Yes, that's it,” Jaskier cooed. “Let's get this armor off.” Slimy buckles were a little difficult to open, but he got it eventually. Placing each piece of armor off to the side, Jaskier took Geralt's hand and guided him over to the small stream near their camp. “Let's get you cleaned up a little, yeah?”

Geralt said nothing as Jaskier poured cool water across his skin, washing away the kikimore blood and some of Geralt's own blood. “There, isn't that better?” Jaskier wet his hands again and undid the tie holding Geralt's hair back. He smoothed his fingers through the dirty hair, trying to clean it a little. They both needed a proper bath and with the nearest town two days away, this would have to do. “How long until the potion wears off?”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier's hand and held his wrist to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Don't know,” he said, his voice sounding a little more normal, but it still had that growling edge. “Maybe an hour?”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Yes. Take off your clothes.”

Jaskier guided them over to the bedrolls and did just that. Geralt watched with hungry black eyes as more and more of Jaskier's soft skin was revealed. He licked his lips and pounced, pinning Jaskier down. He held the bard's wrist with one hand, using the other to open the ties of his breeches. Grinding their hips together, they both moaned at the contact.

Geralt reached up and pinned Jaskier down with both hands. It wasn't that he wanted to restrain Jaskier, or he thought the bard might try to get away, it was just... a little animal voice in Geralt's head told him to hold on. _Yours_ , it hissed, _keep what's yours_. This particular potion never had this side effect before, but then again, it usually wore off well before Geralt returned to camp. He decided not to think about it too hard and held onto Jaskier as many ways as possible: with his hands, pinned under the weight of his body, and soon, marked with his scent.

Geralt rolled his hips, Jaskier bucking up to meet him, and they both moaned. Without so much as spit to ease the friction, it was a little rougher than usual, but rough was exactly what Geralt's toxin addled mind wanted, and the rough slide of skin against skin pushed them higher, faster, until Jaskier gasped and came with a groan.

Geralt tore his eyes open and stared down, watching his own cock pump across Jaskier's, covering him with his smell. The animal in the back of Geralt's mind purred at a job well done and he collapsed, pinning Jaskier under him, their mingled seed staining his shirt.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's back, holding him tight. “Better?” he asked carefully.

“Better.”

“Good.”

Jaskier held him until his eyes went back to normal. And though his limbs shook with toxin, Geralt was still strong enough to give Jaskier a proper greeting.

+1.

“Alright...” Jaskier made a few last minute adjustments and turned around, holding his arms wide so Geralt could take in the full picture. “How do I look?”

Geralt glanced up. “The same,” he said. To Geralt's eyes, Jaskier looked exactly the same as he had a quarter of an hour ago, the last time he asked Geralt how he looked. He didn't know what changes the bard supposedly made, maybe a new scent splashed across his skin? Jaskier frowned and Geralt tried again. “You look very... blue?” Blue doublet, blue breeches, blue tights, blue seemed to be the theme. It complimented his eyes, which is probably why Jaskier had so much of it.

Jaskier took a deep breath and squashed down the urge to punch Geralt. “The hat, Geralt, the hat. How does it look? Too much?”

“Oh, yes, too much.” Now that Jaskier pointed out what he was supposed to be looking at, Geralt had an opinion. The floppy black hat definitely didn't go with the robin's egg blue, and the long white feather did him no favors.

“Thank you. Was that so hard?” Jaskier threw the hat back towards his bag and smoothed down his hair, checking the mirror one more time. “Perfect. Do you remember everything we went over?”

Geralt sighed. “Yes, I remember.”

“Would you like to tell me?”

Jaskier seemed to forget Geralt had decades of combat techniques, alchemy and potions memorized, not to mention every detail of every stinking beast on the Continent. Why else did he continue to quiz Geralt on the social niceties of the stupid festival he was playing at? Still, Jaskier did a lot to humor Geralt, he could return the favor every so often.

“You're playing the big tent at dinner tonight. You want me in the crowd. If I see Valdo Marx, I tell him to fuck off. Otherwise, you want me with you as you tour the festival.” There was repaying the others' kindness, and then there was two days following Jaskier around as he sang and tried to prove he was the best bard in the land. Geralt could only handle so many bards prancing around before he punched someone.

“And what else?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt ground his teeth together. “If anyone tries to proposition me, I'll tell you straight away.

“But do you honestly think another bard will try anything? You were an odd duck to come to me like you did, I don't think many others in your profession have the same spine.”

Jaskier turned away from the mirror and sighed at Geralt. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that. You don't think any other bard is fool enough to come near you. But I know for a fact that I've talked you up and down the Continent for years, making sure everyone in the four kingdoms wants to climb on your cock, and here we are in the thick of it.” He pursed his lips. “As much as I hate to say it, I'm not particularly... special, among bards. Talent wise, yes,” he said quickly before Geralt made a joke, “I am leagues beyond. But in temperament, we're all more or less the same. I'm just the one who saw you first. You will get propositions tonight, trust me.”

He came in close, crowding Geralt onto the bed, all but crawling into his lap. Geralt let his hands fall to Jaskier's waist as was his habit, holding him close. “And when you do, I want you to tell me. But I also want you to wear this.” Geralt jumped a little as Jaskier's hand dived down the front of his breeches.

“What the?” He squirmed against Jaskier, peering down to try and inspect the handkerchief Jaskier stuffed down his breeches, almost on top of his cock.

Jaskier's lips brushed his ear and Geralt went very still. “Valdo is ten kinds of asshole, and if he sees you, he'll try to take you from me. When he does, let him get a look at that. Alright?”

Geralt went to adjust the new bulge in his breeches, but a look from Jaskier pinned him in place. “Fine. But after you're finished tonight, you owe me your ass as payment.”

Jaskier smirked, then captured Geralt's lips in a searing kiss. “Of course,” he whispered into the kiss. “Half the fun of performing is the after party.”

Jaskier climbed off Geralt's lap and collected his lute. They made their way out into town, into the thick of the festival. Bards and minstrels sang and warbled from every street corner, making Geralt's head hurt. This was the beginning of the day, what was tonight going to be like? Fuck, how would he even make it through tomorrow?

As they walked through the festival, Geralt stayed close to Jaskier. The bard smiled and greeted old friends as they passed and Geralt had to marvel at him for a moment. He rarely got to see this side of Jaskier, the friendly man, usually, he put all his charm towards getting Geralt a better price for his contracts, leaving precious little for actual socializing.

They stopped at a few food carts and ate as they walked. Jaskier insisted they stop and listen to a flute player as they ate and Geralt had to admit, he didn't hate it. It didn't take him long to realize that most of this festival was about being seen, and since Jaskier was the only one walking around with a Witcher, people definitely saw him.

Closer to dusk, they made their way to the big tent and Jaskier found Geralt a table before disappearing back stage. “Remember,” he whispered, leaning down close enough for Geralt to smell him. “You see Valdo Marx, you send him packing.” A bright smile bloomed across Jaskier's face. “I hope you enjoy the performance!” He pranced off towards the stage and disappeared.

Geralt managed to catch the eye of a bar maid and got himself some ale. Another girl came by with a plate of chicken and finally, the night was looking up. Geralt sat and drank, waiting for Jaskier's turn on the stage.

“Mmm, aren't you something,” a voice purred. A not unattractive man slid into the chair next to Geralt, a lute slung over his back, dark eyes glittering in the low light. “White hair, furrowed brow, you must be the Witcher.” Geralt said nothing and snagged another ale from a passing bar maid. The man extended a hand towards Geralt. “Valdo Marx. Pleasure to meet you.”

Geralt took a moment to finish his ale, ignoring the offered hand. When he was done with his drink, he placed the mug on the table with a clunk. “Fuck off.”

Valdo recoiled, his mouth opening in a perfect 'O' as he clutched his chest dramatically. “I heard you were rough, but I never imagined. Don't you have any kind words for an admirer?”

“Fuck off,” Geralt said again and peered around for another tray of ale. A bar maid caught his eye and returned with another horn of ale.

Valdo didn't seem to care that his company was not wanted. He leaned in closer to Geralt. “You know, have you ever thought of taking on a real bard? Little Jaskier is fine for country tunes, but I can make you famous. My songs are sung in courts from here to Cintra, and oh, the ballads I'd write about you.”

Jaskier walked out onto the stage, pulling Geralt's attention away from the idiot at his side up to his idiot. _Oh Jaskier,_ he thought, _you owe me for this_.

Jaskier took a bow and when the applause died down, he started in on his first song. Valdo sat next to Geralt, chattering away about nothing, Geralt wasn't paying attention. He was barely paying attention to Jaskier as his eyes scanned the room for more food and ale.

So distracted in his search for food, Geralt didn't notice Valdo until it was too late, until the fucking bard already had his hand down Geralt's breeches. “Fuck off!” He bucked, trying to push the man off.

But Valdo let out a shriek like he'd been burnt, the handkerchief Jaskier stuffed down Geralt's breeches clutched in his fingers. “And that's why you don't touch my Witcher!” Jaskier sang from the stage, making eerily direct eye contact with Valdo, before continuing his song.

Valdo shrieked again, throwing the handkerchief down on the table and stomping away. A few people watched him go, a few others stared at Geralt before turning their attention back to the performance.

It wasn't often that Geralt had no fucking clue what was going on, but it did happen. He picked up the handkerchief that spent most of the day soaking up his cock sweat and tried to figure out what Jaskier did to piss Valdo off. He unfolded the little square and saw a few inked words:

_Keep your hands off my things. Unless you've forgotten Oxenfurt?_

Geralt had no clue what had gone down between Jaskier and Valdo. He tried to ask a few times, and gave up when Jaskier spent at least ten minutes describing the boils on Valdo's back and how he was a talentless wastrel who squandered his family fortune. One thing was for sure, Jaskier definitely owed him an explanation now.

After the show finished to thunderous applause, Geralt waited to the side of the stage for Jaskier to appear. And so he did—with a flourish—and dozens of flowers clutched in his hands, along with a bulging coin purse. He smiled at Geralt. “Well, what did you think?”

“Good enough,” Geralt said, then held up the handkerchief. “I'm more interested in this. Why the fuck did you leave a note for Valdo next to my cock?”

Jaskier shrugged. “The bastard knows you're mine, he loves taking my things—my lovers, my songs, whatever he can get his hands on—and it was only a matter of time before he tried to get in your trousers. I... preempted his next move.”

Geralt smirked at the cunning of it all. They might be stupid bards trying to one up each other like school boys, but he did admire the forethought. “So? What happened in Oxenfurt?”

“Oh, he and I were trying to court the same girl, he bedded her first so I took a shit in his lute.” Jaskier didn't continue.

Geralt shook his head. “Is this whole fight over a girl and a ruined lute?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Maybe.” Before Geralt could get too mad at him, Jaskier sidled up close, wrapping his arm around Geralt's. “You've been very good tonight, very... accommodating. Why don't we head back to the inn and see how much I can accommodate you?”

Geralt stuffed the ruined handkerchief in Jaskier's pocket and steered him out of the tent. “Now that's more like it.”

The End


End file.
